


Taako take down

by ellagie



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown, a more angsty take on what happens when they remember their past, some little clips of taako and lups past, taako gets fucked up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-08 21:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12262524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellagie/pseuds/ellagie
Summary: When Taako drinks the void fish's icker the results are almost too much to handle. With the help of an unknown presence he pushes the effects off long enough to fight the hunger, but its only a matter of time before he breaks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just wanted to post this, I'll maybe edit it eventually
> 
> More chapters to come, i'll try to update every Monday! 
> 
> feedback is my life blood

“—you could die!”

 

Taako was the first one to take the flask from Barry. Lucretia’s panic-stricken voice followed the ickr down his throat, raking a shiver through his ribs. The liquid was thick and cool, sticking to his throat like swamp water. He resisted the urge to gag and handed the bottle to Magnus.

 

Death wasn’t something Taako spent a lot of time worrying about. In his experience Death was a tall. Dead and handsome killer time—with a great ass to boot. What he began feeling however—wasn’t anything like death. It was worse—because suddenly he felt like he knew exactly what death felt like, and it sure as hell wasn’t this.  
His body felt frozen—fake—like a stone shell that was being split open, erupting from the inside with a volcano force of molten pain. Captured in this space, disconnected from his body he felt himself being masterfully undone; thin iron sharp fingers plucking apart his stitches with snaps and tugs

 

/b/ -Taako!-/b/

 

The pain wasn’t physical. It existed in another plane—a part of his he didn’t know existed—some place raw and vulnerable. It was like existing in two places at once.  
To the left he could see Merle, stone faced and weary as he held back Magnus.  
Magnus, who with tears falling gracelessly from his chin, had drawn his sword; mouth twisted in a befuddled mixture of sorrowful anger. He lurched at Lucretia, shouting.

 

-Can you hear me?-

 

Barry braced the other side of Magnus, his face ragged and drained—he looked numb, but Taako suddenly felt familiar enough with the lines in his face to notice a deep-set grief. He felt something rising—pushing against his spine, his chest—when Davenport spoke, “Lucretia…what have you done…” Feeling like his jaw might snap from the pressure peeling through him, he tried to speak but nothing came out.

 

-Taako, hold on.-

 

The flashed came then.

  
-Not yet Ko! I need you to hold on--they need you to-!-

 

Each one felt like a projection ripping through his body.

He saw Lucretia then—her eyes wide, face stricken with a childlike display of horror. She had never looked so young; her mouth open wide, screaming something as she pointed with her free hand. It was then that he noticed she was facing him. She was pointing at him. His body must have fallen for her to be at such an angle, but it was hard to see clearly. The image of his friends jumped around as his body began to seize.

Barry was there, speaking words he couldn’t understand. Magnus and Merle engulfed his vision, kneeling beside him and securing his body. Davenport began rattling off about not detaining his body, but Magnus snapped back. There was already blood leaching through Taako’s blonde roots and dripping steadily from his nose. He had hit the ground hard but Magnus had to wonder if it has a broken nose or something worse. He held the slight wizard easily in his arms, allowing his body to seize safely within his grasp. With his hat knocked back Magnus noticed that his dark skin was unnaturally pale. His skin was slick with sweat and his eyes… They weren’t rolled back—they were open—but it was unlike anything he had ever seen. Thick with a clouded grey glaze, they stared—wide and unwavering—at nothing. Magnus felt panic building in his throat, “Barry, what’s happening?!”

“I-I don’t know I’ve never seen—.”

“Shit—his eyes!”

Blood had begun welling over the edge of his waterline—running down his face like tears. Magnus felt his body begin to still.

 

 

There was red. A lot of it. Capes and badges—jackets or robes. Taako saw his own mouth, lips slick with red—and his hair, with long waving streaks of red—and fire.  
There was a room he saw himself in—full of burning curtains and smoke. He tore at the wall, but didn’t recognize his body as his own.

-Listen babe, I’m here ok? I’ll hold down the fort.-

The words came from his mouth, but that wasn’t his voice? His freckles were shifted—his eyes..warmer? But the closer he looked the harder it became to see. Static began picking at his vision, making it hard to think or even breathe.

He pushed back—there was something here—something that made his heart beat so fast he felt like it was shattering against his chest with every thump. He was overwhelmed with this desperate fear—the need to reach and claw his way forward. He couldn't leave this place—he was terrified of slipping away, he need to see—he needed to hear, to hold, to remember......what?

-Taako calm down!-

  
He heard that voice and felt like screaming—and suddenly he was sure he remembered hazy nightmares where he woke up tearing at his chest to free the pain that surged into his chest when he heard that voice.

-Shit, fuck, Taako! Not yet! -

  
There was an edge then, something he could feel but not really see. A place overlooking everything he had seen—the fire and the hair—he tried to pull himself forward but he could feel himself tipping slowly. He needed to see, to know, to remember.

-It’ll be ok. I promise .-

  
Before he could drift closer, the summit he had looked over—the rift that split open his body—was engulfed in flames, fading to embers and then...

Cauterized.

 

 

 

His vision was red wit the dust of arcane fire—warm and familiar—and then blood, slick and …gross.

“Holy shit!” Merle's voice was shaking oddly as he laughed. Whispers of spell-light drifted from his fingers, “What the hell was that?”

“Taako, are you with us?”

Taako tilted his head back, realizing very suddenly that he was being held very close and was, absolutely, very not ok with it. Pushing Magnus’s head out of his personal space, he shuffled his way into a sitting position. “You chuckle-fucks trying to sneak in some PDA with Taako while he’s out? That’s sick.”

Merle laughed a little too hard and Magnus ignored his crude attempt at a joke, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

He rolled his eyes, feeling them slick and burn, before pushing the bear-sized fingers—once again—out of his personal bubble. “Cool it Harold Gould, I’m fine.” Dragging his fingers under his eyes he briefly morned the state of his undoubtedly fucked up mascara before sulking at the thought of saving the world with a streaky face.

Barry silently extends a hand, staring attentively as he helps him to his feet, “You gave us quite the scare.”

“What day is it?" Magnus interrupts, "do you know where you are?’

Taako takes a second to adjust to being on his feet. His body feels light—disconnected—but he has no trouble reaching down to replace his hat. When he blinks he notices the shadows of flames, and a name that was once burned into the wall.

LUP.

Instinctively he reaches for his umbra staff—secured at his side, and gingerly presses a hand to his chest, as if he could touch the wound deep inside him.

He notices everyone staring and realizes he’s been silent too long. Swinging the umbra staff onto his shoulder he cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow. “Take a picture if you wanna stare homie, I’ve got an apocalypse to deal with.”

His dramatic hair flip was lost in the crash of thick black tendrils smashing through the ceiling.

The Hunger had arrived.


	2. Abraka-fuck all this shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunger attacks and Taako decides he's 100% done with this shit. As the hordes of tendril soldiers approach, he flip-wizard's himself out of the way...but something isn't right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love cliff hangers. 
> 
> Next chapter I get to play with a little scene from taako and lups sad childhood. Yay angst.

Everywhere that were black tendrils with opaline surfaces, gleaming with ribbons of color snaking through their murky black depths—it looked liquid, but as it ejected another tendril towards him— “fuck. no. yup. defiantly solid.”. 

Taako side stepped nimbly, barley avoiding the inky fingers of some grotesque soldier that had emerged from the hunger. Flip-wizard be dammed. This sucked. 

Davenport had taken off, calling for them to follow, but Merle lingered beside Lucretia. “Come on Lucretia, we’ve got to get to the ship!” 

The director was stone faced, gripping her staff with two hands now as sweat gathered in her deep-set wrinkles. “You guys go on, I’ve got to finish conjuring this shield and I-I can’t break focus.” She closed her eyes, whispering softly to herself. 

“There won’t be a fucking spell if you’re dead!” Merle’s voice was high and tight, rooting himself beside her stubbornly he looked helplessly at Magnus. “…we can’t leave her...” 

He said it quietly, and frankly, unnecessarily as Magnus rushed forward and scooped the director into his arms before silently continuing forward.  
Lucretia’s look of shock was lost on Taako. What did she think was going to happen? Of course Magnus wasn’t going to leave Lucy behind. 

...Lucy?

Magnus brushed past him—his expression begrudgingly flat and weary. And then Taako was seeing him with tears catching on his side burns... That’s right, hadn’t Magnus been yelling? Pointing his sword at her moments ago? Try as he might, he couldn’t remember why everyone had been so upset—why they all had drank from the same flask—why the director had bee pointing so vehemently at him—why there had been a fire…

The taste of arcane dust filled his mouth, the smell overwhelming as his vision was encrusted in red. 

Orange licks of flames flashed across the room. Taako barely noticed the umbra staff hovering in his outstretched hand—barley took in the sight of fire rising up and up, clawing and slitting its way across the pillar of hunger until it broke apart the tendrils into falling, flaming heaps of black goo.

Faintly he processes a voice whispering at the back of his neck.

-Keep going koko-

He tries not to wonder who in their right fucking mind would ever call him Koko. Pushing forward, his vision is hazy, sparking with embers and static. He can’t afford to stop right now, he thinks, with the start blaster so close. It looms ahead of them, resting at the end of a hall Davenport had opened with some old ass hidden-lever-in-a-bookcase- trick. Very fantasy Scooby Doo, Taako thought, he’d have to compliment the Director on her taste once they were through this cluster-fuck of events. 

The hidden hallway had open glass panels lining the roof. Convenient for taking off in a hurry, but not so great at keeping out hordes of alien tentacle monsters that want to destroy the planet. 

Magnus threw his chance lane—kabobbing the last few hunger gooks out of the way as Merle close the hall off. The heavy metal locked into place—giving them exactly three seconds to run about half way down the hall before shadow creeps were bursting through the ceiling again.

Taako swore a few times before stopping his retreat to the ship. “You know what? I think I’m actually 100% over this shit.” He turned back towards the approaching hoard and began walking towards them slowly, annoyance dripping in each exaggerated step. He stopped, clapping his hands together with a devilish smile. “That’s it. You tentacle fucks wanna tango? Suck on this!” The incantation quick on his lips, he flicked the staff with a single, “Abraka-fuck you!” and cast Evard’s black tentacles. 

But immediately he knew something was wrong. 

As the spell launched itself from his umbrella he felt his own energy slip away. He stumbled into the wall, catching himself before Magnus or Merle could turn. He weakly flashed a snarky grin as Magnus wrinkled his nose and Merle let out a quick “Kinky!”, before boarding the ship. 

The hunger’s soldiers were quickly wrapped up and ripped apart by masses of slippery, wet, magic-hentai. Behind him, Magnus had stopped at the boarding ramp calling out, “Taako that’s gross as fuck—good job—now get your ass on this ship!” 

“That is the plan my dude,” his voice came out weaker then he would have liked, as he used every ounce of his energy to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. His vision began to swim in pulses of static, tunneling off until all he could see was the tips of his boots. Had they always been so far away? The stars were scuffed…and faded…he’d have to go shopping soon….....

He didn’t realize he had stopped. 

-Taako!-

“Taako!”

A warmth began to gather in his hand, creeping up his arm. He clutched the umbra staff tighter as it began to radiate snapping sparks of energy into his veins. One of those shadow fucks had broken free and was approaching, boxing him against the wall. With this new surge of energy, he grinned and pushed up and off the umbra-staff, launching himself feet first into the air and sailing gracefully over the head of his inky opponent. As he landed he hooked the staff’s handle around the creature’s neck and pulled him back, a ball of fire growing rapidly in his palm. Without hesitation, he dug the heel of his hand into the back of this thing and blasted it to shreds, satisfaction rising as he watched its form wither. 

The voices of his teammates were lost in the crackle of the umbrastaff losing charge, taking with it what little energy he had left. His legs buckled and he slammed against the wall, arms too heavy to catch himself. 

‘Is the staff the only thing keeping me on my feet?”

is the last thing he though before a swing of steely, sharp fingers clipped his ear and sent him flying into an eruption of static.


	3. Knife ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little flash back about elf ears and childhood trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhkk i'm late, sorry!  
> ill edit later, maybe, hopefully?  
> That you guys that left kudos and comments!! I use them like treats to convince my depressed ass to get up and write something. 
> 
> WARNING  
> there's more swears in this one, and some elf slurs and violence. Be safe m'dudes, There's also a brief, non descriptive description of sexual assault.

Flickering into view was the miserable grey-scape image of an alleyway—much too narrow for any grown person to squeeze through reasonably, but a perfect fit for an elfling child to huddle into. The high walls on either side of him did a great service—blocking out the harshest November winds and leaving him with the pin pricks of icy rain traveling in rivets down his back. The child, huddled into a camouflage of boxes and other discarded trash, was trembling violently, his cheeks flushed red in a striking contrast to the rest of his ashen face that almost seemed to glow under its sheen of sweat.

  
Even in such horrendous shape the face was utterly recognizable. Taako knew that tangle of blond hair was his own and he found himself briefly wondering if he was facing the chalice again to be able to view such an old memory so clearly.

  
The younger Taako—Taakito—was curled stiffly under a striking red sweater that had been tucked around his chest. He watched himself fiddling with the sleeves nervously before his heavy lids snapped open, eyes darting around, looking frantically.

  
There was something about the sweater that struck out a hollow rhythm in his chest. It wasn’t his. He knew that—he’d never be caught in such a gaudy shade, but he could feel the fabric from memory alone—each stitch memorized under his fingers. He knew every nick, each patch that had worn thin, and each spot where the pattern didn’t quite match up. He knew its smell. Warm and oaky—old and dusty, in a good way—like libraries full of books and scrolls. It was the way all the clothes his aunt made smelled, on the account of her storing her yarns and fabrics in an old wooden crate.

  
But that couldn’t be right.

  
His aunt was long dead. She had only ever made clothes for herself and him.

  
After she had died he was alone.

  
And this was not his sweater, it never had been. It carried with it the faint smell of jasmine and sea moss, something magical and familiar all the same. It was a smell Taako recognized immediately—one he actively sought out. A rare blend, it was often hard to find, but Taako had his dorm back at the moon base fully stocked with candles and oils carrying this very scent. It was a clear and rich smell. The gentle jasmine perfumed the shabby garment as if it was treading into its very fabric.

  
Taakito’s form shuttered heavily, shaking the boxes around him and sending down a shower of rain to mix with the sweat running off the tip of his nose. He was sick.  
He remembered now. He’d gotten sick shortly after joining a caravan. It didn’t take long for the others to notice and when they did he was swiftly and mercilessly removed—left to hunker down in the nearest alley until the sickness passed. If it passed. It didn’t make a difference to them either way.

  
He remembered the long days that stretched and connected into painfully weary moments when he had the strength to open his eyes against the pounding in his head and drag himself to the nearest puddle for a drink. Of course, there were a few parts in his life he’d spent like this. He wasn’t exactly sure which was which, they all seemed to blend together to create a mono toned coat of “life is shit” to paint across his younger years.

  
He looked aimlessly at the pitiful scene, unsure as to why his mind had taken him here. Sure, it was sad—but so what? It’s not like pathetic orphan children sleeping alone in alleyways was exactly unique. The world sucked—that’s just the way it was—and the only way to survive was to out play this shitty game they called life.

  
At the sound of footsteps, he was instinctually flattening his ghostly form against the wall—as if it would in some way make the child buried in rage less visible.  
Taakito’s eyes fluttered back open, glazed over, they still held a bright sheen of panic. His shallow breaths raked in and out a little faster with each sound. He fumbled sluggishly with the sweater. Taako swore and reached down to pull it over the kid’s head, but his arm phased through.  
Nothing. There was nothing there. He knew this was just a memory—that there was nothing he could do to stop it from playing out—but ever-present still was an icy bile rising in his gut.

  
Taakito had managed to pull the sweater over his head, disguising himself as best he could. The movement alone seemed to take all his energy, his body falling back heavy and limp.

  
But the kid’s ears—his ears—were still visible.

  
They poked out from the edges of the scarlet sweater and Taako found himself swearing as some concoction of anger and dread flooded his spectral form. Memories of old folk tales rang in the back of his head; Elves bound and gaged—melting or boiled alive in spells seeking immortality. His aunt had always told him to wear the biggest hat he could find. Even an idiot could tell an elf by their ears. The very ears that were stolen and sold in black markets, promising a broth that would cure sickness or a charm that would bring beauty and good fortune. The same ears that were resting softly on a pile of cardboard in plain sight.

  
A human boy—portly and towheaded—was wedging his way into the alley, stepping lightly as to avoid drawing attention to himself. He was clearly doing a terrible job, seeing the way younger Taako flinched at his approach.

  
Taako crossed his arms and let out a huff of sarcastic laughter. “Am I supposed to take him seriously? Dude looks like ol’ McDonald’s pedophilic fever dream. I mean, Overalls? Really?” He barked out a laugh. Even as a ghost he felt vulnerable admitting the feeling of fear vibrating his bones.  
Even now? After all these fucking years? He’s just some stupid thug.

  
He knew it was stupid to be afraid. If he were to come face to face with this 4-piece chicken mc’fuckhead in real time, he’d have zero problem magic missile- ing his ass to kingdom come.

  
But this was then.

  
Then he had only been a kid, with no magic, no defense, and no home. A kid who easily drew the attention of a less then savory crowd.  
He tried to tell himself, this isn’t real. It’s just a flash back, some dream-induced coma flashback shit. But it had been real. And that was enough to send the same treacherous waves of fear and helplessness lapping into a smaller part of him he thought had gone dry long ago.

  
This man—this child—stepped over the walls of Taako’s shelter. His hand retracted from his pocket, bringing with it a shining piece of…something, about as long as his hand. Taako didn’t recognize the face, or his voice as he spoke. As he reached towards him though, he could distinctly recall the sight of those hands. The dust from the clay that had plastered his palms earlier in the day, now cracked, the chewed down fingernails adorned with grit. Callous and hot fingers, that were stronger then they looked. And as he reached toward the elfling child Taako couldn’t help but touch his right ear. Feeling the divot where a piece had been sliced away years ago.

  
There wasn’t much of a scene. The boy lifted Taako up by his ears with ease. The sound that came from his younger self wasn’t more than a pitiful mewl of protest.  
Sympathy nausea began swelling in his throat as he watched himself turn an odd, pale shade of green with what he knew was guttural waves of dizzying nausea.  
Little Taako reached up to paw at his assailant’s grip. His struggle faded quickly however, and his arms fell heavily to his sides.

  
“You’re a long way from the forest, Keebler.”

  
Taako felt a familiar pang of anger—one that usually summoned a cold smile to his lips and set a fire in his eyes. He was more than acquainted with the such slurs, but watching his own flushed face freeze over with panic—he only felt pain. A sorrowful pang of…guilt almost. Woe might be the right word if he was feeling up for some dramatic diction.

_‘I wish I could help you…I wish it wasn’t like this…’_

He pulled himself away then, turning his back on the scene in a shameful catch of helplessness. He didn’t need to watch this. Why was he seeing it anyway? He couldn’t change it…

  
“You fuckn pixies think your hot shit. Think everything belongs to you? That you should just be handed whatever you want without having to work for it like the rest of us?

The sky was grey…almost the same color as the bricks…

  
“You show up and think you can steal from my family’s booth? Think you can embarrass me like that with your magic tricks!”

The ground was still wet but it had stopped raining…

  
“I ought to burn you like you did me. Or better yet--,” Taako didn’t need to turn the hear the smile creeping onto the boy’s face, “How bout I cut those pretty little ears off—they’ll fetch me a nice price over on Findly street. Make a reeeaall nice charm—maybe I’ll hand em off to a nice-looking miss.”

There were large spores of mildew sprouting across the various piece of trash….

  
“And after I sell your valuable parts I’ll hand the rest of you over to the boys up town. I’ve seen the way they look at you—we all have.”  
Taako’s blood felt electrified for a moment—he swore he could burn this mother fuckhead with his eyes alone if he weren’t ghosting it out on memory lane.  
He turned when the boy’s voice rose unexpectedly. Taako’s younger self had fallen limp in his arms, temporarily unconscious as his attacker pulled him roughly by the ears, lifting him father off the ground before pinning his back against the wall.

  
He hit with a sickening thud, his breath leaving him in a wheezy gasp. His eyes fluttered open as the slick hand sized object moved forward, pressing into his neck, just below the base of his ear.  
It was a shard of glass.

  
“Where’s the other one.” Taako felt the venom in his words, felt his spit, his breath, mingling with his own. “I know there’s two of you. Tell me where she is or I’ll slice you up like a candle nights ham.”

  
“you ever th-thought..,” he coughed, “of investing in some bre-eath mints man?” The boy’s face grew red as Taako flashed him a watered-down version of his best shit eating grin. “I’m not telling you shit.”

  
With a final yank on his ears, his vision blurred and Taakito lost what little he had left in his stomach. The boy screamed, embarrassingly high, dropping little Taako in a heap at his feet. The shard was knocked from his hand, blood staining the glass.

  
Th vomit was thin, mostly bile, but it left a taste in his mouth like broth. Some kind of vegetable he didn’t remember eating was splattered on the front of the boy’s shirt. Gross. But effective. He’s give himself 5 stars for improvising.

  
The assailant’s boot connected with Taako’s chest, striking with a dull thud. It lifted the elf a good six inches off the ground, but the distinct lack of a crack left a ghost of a smile on his face. It would bruise like a bitch, but the ass hole could even kick hard enough to crack a rib. It was almost comical. He might have found the stomach to laugh if static hadn’t begun to rise in his vision. It broke apart the scene before him, and he found himself relaxing a little.

  
“That’s all she wrote homies.”

  
This was it. It was over. This Is the part where the memory ended. He’d pass out and wake up sometime later that night. He could get past this emotional flash back shit and get back to saving the world.

  
The static in his ears began to bounce with a cadence that sounded eerily familiar. A voice—slapping and sparking through the fuzz—it was heated. Whoever had joined the scene was pissed. The sound pressed against the buzzing fog, he couldn’t hear the words but he knew they were talking.

  
There was a sneer—some kind of human growl—Taako squinted, briefly catching glimpses of his breath riding from his lips in little white puffs, rippling the water in the puddle he laid in.

  
The boy had stood, wiping a hand across his mouth. He kneeled, grabbing hold of the discarded shard behind him and turned his back.  
“looks like…. was ...right..” His voice shifted in the rolling static, muted and distant.

  
Behind him, there was a light, streaming in from the grey sky, backlighting a figure that stood before Ronald mc’dildo. The light, when he tried to look closer, pounded in his head, and he felt himself slipping farther and farther away.

  
It wouldn’t be long now…

  
There was an arm. Slender—young and tanned like sunflower heads, with freckles that looked almost silver…star dust.

  
Taako shifted, his focus straining to see his own hand inches from his face. There was a disconnect. He looked closely, but couldn’t process exactly what he was seeing…Except the piece of brick, dislodged inches from his face. His body felt like a block of butter over fire—melting slowly, losing its grip-but he felt that brick brush his fingers, saw the glass shard held tightly in the boy’s hand, pulling back—and then he felt the tension in him snap. The brick left his fingers and his body slumped among the mildew and the puddles gathering amongst the trash.

  
There was a static scream—and then fire engulfed his body.


End file.
